by Jesse Wolf Hardin
Ecology is the study of interdependency among the innumerable elements of a beautifully interwoven whole. Impacting any single part will have unforeseeable effects on the rest, and one cannot understand any of the constituent parts outside of their greater context. Similarly, an ecology of communities looks at the ways in which human societies interact with, are influenced by and dependent upon the more-than-human world.
When we think of community, we likely picture the ways in which groups of people interact together for their collective good. There are, however, also those plant and animal communities that help sustain us, and that we either coexist with or disrupt, depending on our choices and actions. There are soil communities, made up of subterranean creatures and mychorrizal fungi upon whom entire forests depend, a magical kiln that composts death and gives birth to heated life. There are the microbial communities, more of which are aids to digestion and health than agents of disease. Gaia, the living earth, is an amalgam of interactive communities, and in turn this planet nests within a community of planetary bodies and blazing stars. How we fit into this larger spectrum of relationship––and into the context of place––is part of what defines our characters and our values, language, architecture and arts. It is reflected in whether we live in Southwestern adobes or Eastern brick high-rises, in our accents and the expressions we use, and in what we consider to be our priorities. We are each to some degree affected and formed by sun or cloud cover, New Mexico thundershowers or Pacific mists, and the muffled tone of the ground beneath the roaring pavement.
The root of the word "community" comes from the Latin communis, as does "commune." So too does "communiqué," which can include interspecies messages, and "communicate," which means "to make common." A healthy society is bound together by what its residents and participants share together: intentions, needs, a body of ideas affecting the ways that we live and the quality of that life ... as well as our literal “common ground”––the land itself. Place speaks to us, informs us, strengthens and affirms who we really and wholly are.
We exist and evolve, thrive and eventually die in cause and effect relationship with our neighbors, as well as the other inhabitants of our city or region that we may never personally meet; with all the other people in their respective towns, who together constitute a nation; with the other countries and the continents where they are situated, the oceans that surround each, and the ecosystems that contain them. At best these relationships are reciprocal, meaning the conscious act of gratefully receiving and purposefully giving back, acknowledging the source from which our meals and homes derive, and in turn, living in ways that make us the greatest gift to the world that we can be.
No matter where we live, we can deepen relationship by such practices as: noticing how the land influences culture, and how cultural mores and arts can contribute to the long term care of the land. Understanding the weather where we live, which way the water flows when the rains hit, what depends on that water and what the threats to it are, while we honor it by savoring its flavor and recycling our greywater. Becoming familiar with the plants in nearby meadows or mountains, and those that flourish in vacant lots and the unsprayed edges of parks and lawns, finding out how they can be used for food and medicine, then thanking them by helping to spread their seeds and plead their value and cause. Learning about the local birds and other wildlife, allowing yourself to be moved by their demonstrations, spirits and songs, and then returning the favor by planting native plants they're known to feed on, setting aside a portion of one's yard as rewilded habitat, or participating with groups fighting to protect them through educational campaigns or legislation. Going on nature quests or retreats to clear our minds and feed our hearts, then doing our part to secure the protection of remaining wild areas and so-called “open space.”
We can give back to the earth while giving to our loved ones and ourselves, through the removal of some asphalt and the growing of indigenous grasses, trees, and community herb and food gardens. The promotion of walking, bicycling and mass transit can mean the closure of some streets, and the landscaping of others.
The roofs of every high-rise can be host to food gardens, birdhouses and rain caches, with every concrete median strip converted into mid-street planter boxes. It's easy to imagine rivers once forced underground into culverts being given back their natural courses and allowed to flow clean between our shops and homes. Houses can be retrofitted for solar heat gain, double insulated, and in some cases connected to each other by greenhouses and shared community space. Structures with history and character can be preserved rather than torn down and replaced with modern, bland clones. We could convert to renewable energy sources, decentralize government, empower neighborhood associations, and support and celebrate evocative regional arts. With this, residents might take pride in the uniqueness of their neighborhoods and in the people and other life forms they share it with.
In all our personal as well as collective decisions, it is important to take into account the health and happiness of future as well as present generations, and also the survival of other species. By way of example we can look to Sami or Native American attitudes, including their traditional concern for and accommodation with the natural world. The Amish are said to greet any new idea or technology with a simple qualifying question: “How will it affect our community?” And when we sense ourselves as bedded in the global community of life, the question becomes “does this technology, choice or act hurt or benefit our contiguous, thoroughly interconnected world?”
It is nature that serves as the base, the ground, and the dynamic context for any sustainable community. And what's more, a spiritually, emotionally and physically healthy human society is impossible without an awareness of and reciprocal relationship with the more than human tribe. We are promised, as women and men mated to a given beach or valley, pledged to the Colorado or Snake River drainages, enamored with the Victorian housing of Seattle and Sebastapol, bonded to the Sierras or the Rockies, loyal to the canyon of the Rio Frisco where I call home. We try to remain always mindful of the character of the area where we live, of the context we arise from, and of the hand––and land––that shapes us.
It provides more than a site for our structures, more than a stage for our human acts, and more than a home base for our children and heirs. It is the opportunity to plant our thirsting roots, and make promises we'll keep. It is the most immediate, accessible source of reconnection and instruction, nourishment and inspiration ... and an unequaled opportunity for the re-creation of truly grounded human societies. We can consciously enter into a relationship with the land that sets the standard for our give and take with the people we work and live with. The authenticity, sentience and joy of the entire living world becomes our own, as we become families and communities both purposeful and placed.
Jesse Wolf Hardin is an acclaimed teacher of Animá earth centered practice and author of five books, including Gaia Eros (New Page 2004). He and his partners host wildnerness retreats, personal and couples counsel, vision quests, internships and events in an enchanted river canyon. For those unable to make the trip, email counsel or online correspondence courses are recommended, with all services by donation: Animá Wilderness Retreat Center & Women’s Sanctuary, Box 688, Reserve, NM 87830. www.animacenter.org.